


A Heart is Not About the House

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, K'Immie, Mystery, Quickening
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 01:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13043355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: Duncan's move to a rural area is upset by a 4:30 am wake-up call by the resident ghost.  With Methos and Joe's help, he looks into the mystery.





	A Heart is Not About the House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterhart (winterhart14)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterhart14/gifts).



> Many thanks to my beta!

"Go away." 

The words were barely a sibilant whisper in the air. For a moment, Duncan considered if he'd actually heard them or dreamed them, but centuries of caution bucked his adrenaline into action and he went from slumber to wakefulness in a microsecond. The phrase echoed in his mind as he waited to hear more.

He listened intently, not moving, but heard nothing else. If someone else was in the house, they hadn't moved or spoken again. After several long minutes, Duncan rolled silently out of bed, brining his katana with him. 

The house was new to him, but he navigated in the dark with the mental image he'd taken of the space during the week he'd spent moving in. This had been his first night in the house, but the week of dropping off boxes and unpacking had helped familiarize him with his new home. A few of his things were still in boxes, but most of his belongings were neatly put away, leaving an open floor plan. He slipped through the rooms on the second floor, finding nothing, and headed for the stairs. 

The house was old, so the stairs creaked. Duncan moved as quietly as he could, but the stairs announced his presence and he grimaced when the tread beneath his foot gave him away. He waited, ready to act, but nothing moved. 

He couldn't detect anyone present, and certainly no Presence, in the house, so he flicked on the light at the bottom of the staircase. His living room came into view. 

"Who's there?" he called out. 

No one answered. 

He cautiously began looking through the other rooms on the main floor, found nothing, and gave the basement a quick once over. Nothing there. 

Duncan rubbed his face. It must have been a dream. 

He checked the time. A few minutes after 4:30 am. He would have gotten up in an hour anyway. Duncan stowed his weapon safely away and went to the kitchen. He could brew a pot of coffee and start unpacking and organizing. 

*** 

"Come to help me move the couch?" Duncan asked. He'd felt Methos arrive and found him and Joe outside his door. 

"Better. We brought pizza." Joe pointed to Methos, who held the cardboard box with one hand on the underside. He brandished it forward with the aplomb of a French restaurant maître d'. 

"And beer." Methos lifted up a six pack with his other hand. He followed Joe into the house and looked around. "Cold in here," he said. "When are you going to turn the heat on, MacLeod? It is October."

"The heat is on," Duncan said. "But it's an old house. You know how it goes."

"Unpacking keeps you warm," Joe said as he made for the dining room table. 

Methos put the pizza down. "Don't worry about finding plates. We brought paper plates and napkins." 

"And a church key." Joe fished a bottle opener from his pocket with a triumphant flourish. 

"You're a boy scout," Methos said. "But in the middle of moving, there's no way to know where things are."

"Thanks," Duncan said without actually sounding or feeling grateful. He knew exactly where his bottle opener was, currently in the drawer because he'd unpacked it yesterday, and where the plates were, currently in the dishwasher because he'd washed them first thing after the move. 

"Don't mention it." Methos gave him a grin. 

"How's the move coming?" Joe asked as he chose a slice and started chewing. 

"Not too bad." Duncan pulled a piece onto a paper plate. The pizza had a little bit of everything on it and smelled divine. He hadn't realized he'd been so hungry. "Boxes everywhere. But I'll get it sorted."

"We get good at moving," Methos tipped his head toward Duncan, but his eyes were on Joe. 

"You aren't the only ones." Joe chuckled. "When you're active in the Watchers, we move as often as you guys do. I'm glad I'm semi-retired. Otherwise I'd have had to move here to the sticks to keep an eye out."

"This isn't the sticks," Duncan protested. 

Joe raised an eyebrow. "You moved fifty miles outside of Seacouver into the oldest house on the street. Your closest neighbors are an acre away and out here everybody keeps their own chickens and grows organic kohlrabi."

"I wanted some privacy," Duncan said. He'd been desperate to get away from Immortal Central. In the past six months, eight Immortals had come into town looking for a fight. The Game wouldn't leave him alone and it made him weary and bone-tired. Duncan thought having a different, unlisted address might afford him the break he needed. 

"This house is the oldest on the street?" Methos asked. He looked around the space. "It must have been remodeled at some point."

"Sure. After the fire." Joe chewed on the crust of his slice and reached for a beer from the six pack. 

"Fire?" Duncan asked. "The realtor never mentioned a fire."

"Why would she?" Joe popped the cap from the beer with the church key. "Happened more than fifty years ago. Those kinds of records get lost in the realtor shuffle. Doesn't make the buyers happy and the damage is long since cleaned up."

Duncan frowned. "And how do you know about it?"

"Watcher files. You aren't the first Immortal to live in this house." Joe raised his eyebrows. "What do you think started the fire?"

"A Quickening?" Duncan breathed the words out. 

Methos slouched into his chair. He hadn't taken a piece of pizza yet, but he'd been sipping a beer. "What happened here?"

Joe shrugged. "I skimmed the report. Didn't think it would mean that much. Both Immortals involved are now dead. The one living here was new, maybe Immortal for a few years. Hard to tell. He might not even have known what he was. He had a wife and a daughter living in the house with him at the time."

Methos and Duncan exchanged a look. 

Joe caught the glances. "Of course the daughter wasn't his. He'd adopted her when he married. Don't be dense. Anyway, they'd been here less than a year when the other Immortal located him and went after him. Wasn't much of a fight. But the house caught on fire. A good chunk of it burned. The wife used some of the insurance policy to fix it up. End of story."

"What happened to the other Immortal?" Methos asked. 

"Lost his head a few years later in Europe somewhere."

Methos raised his beer. "May your new home be safer for you than its previous occupant." 

"Seconded," Duncan said. The story Joe told gave him an uneasy feeling. He didn't like the events, but something even more than that unsettled him about it. 

"Amen to that," Joe said, clinking his bottle.

*** 

Duncan finished stretching after he'd worked out. The guest bedroom wasn't especially large, but it offered enough room to do some calisthenics. He'd need to find a good gym or dojo to join so that he could have additional space. 

His neighbors might be an acre away, but they'd wonder what he was doing if he performed katas in the backyard. 

He stripped off his shirt and shorts and stepped into the shower. He adjusted the water sloshing from the tap and then plunked the lever that would cause the water to come out of the shower head. He leaned aside while the water splashed cold. When the hot water made its way through the pipes, he pushed under the spray and started soaping the important regions. 

Duncan hummed to himself as he thought about his next task and then he gave an involuntary yelp. The water had turned cold again. Not just cold, but freezing cold. His skin felt shot through with icy needles. 

Duncan stepped back from the spray. He shuddered from the sudden drop in temperature. Even the air felt frigid. He fussed with the controls, but the water remained cold. 

Heaving in great gulps of air, he splashed himself quickly to clear off the soap remnants and stepped from the shower. At least he hadn't yet started to shampoo his hair. 

He tried the water at the sink and found it also only ran cold. 

"Old houses," he muttered. "Older water heaters." 

He toweled dry and pulled on clean clothes, then set off to the basement to locate the water heater. He'd had less than a minute of hot water. There probably wasn't much he could do in the moment, but he'd take a look to make sure it wasn't leaking. 

The basement air was cool and the water heater stood next to the furnace in one corner. Duncan poked around, prodding and tapping, and generally investigating the set-up. It looked fine. 

"Huh." Duncan shook his head. He would have to call a plumber to take a look. As far as he could tell the water heater was less than five years old, hooked up competently, and should be providing plenty of hot water. He'd thought he'd recalled as much when he'd made an offer on the property. Things broke, even relatively new things sometimes. 

He climbed out of the basement and jotted down a note for himself before retiring to his bedroom. The air was cold and he pulled another blanket from the closet. The furnace had been working just fine, too. Maybe something was wrong with the radiators and the heat wasn't circulating. He'd need to have someone in to look that over as well. For tonight, he'd be okay. He'd slept outdoors in far colder and less comfortable conditions. A slight chill was nothing. 

Duncan drifted off to sleep trying to push vague anxieties away from his mind. 

"Go away!" 

Duncan went from deep slumber to full wakefulness with the shouted words ringing in his ears. He sat upright and reached for the lamp at the side of the bed. He clicked it on and the yellow light illuminated the room. No one was there. 

"Who's there?" Duncan called out, demanding. "Who's there?"

His breath clouded in the air in front of him. The room wasn't just chilly, but frigid. 

He hopped out from the covers and found socks and warmer clothing. The clock read 4:30 am. 

Grimly, Duncan found his katana and went to survey his home. He doubted he'd find any intruders. 

***

"Okay, we're here." 

Duncan ushered Methos and Joe into the living room. "Thanks for coming."

Joe held out a file with a sheaf of papers in it. "The house history like you requested. What's so important about it?"

Methos settled in a chair and raised his eyes to Duncan. "You've been busy. Looks like you're done unpacking."

"Finished this morning."

"In record time," Methos said. 

"I've been getting up early."

Methos raised an eyebrow. 

Joe stepped over to a hard backed chair and made himself comfortable. "You weren't very clear on the phone other than that something was going on."

"I thought it'd be more believable if I told you in person." Duncan rifled through the papers in the folder. He'd need to spend time reading the contents more closely. The details might be important. 

Methos and Joe exchanged looks. 

"Yes," Duncan said, staring hard at each of them. "It's going to be one of those times."

Joe put both hands up in the air, placating. "Sometimes you get a little...."

"Overboard," Methos finished. "Things are never dull with you around."

"I'd rather have an entire decade of dull," Duncan said. "But that appears to not be an option." He fixed a look at both of them. "Now, hear me out." He took a few minutes to relate the shower incident and about the early morning shouting that he'd heard. "I got a plumber out here and there isn't a damn thing wrong with the heater or the furnace. The pipes and radiator are perfect." Duncan tilted his head down. "In fact, it was all newly installed last year. Seems the previous owner had trouble with cold water, too. Small town. Plumbers talk."

"Maybe hire a plumber from the city," Methos said. "The ones out here are probably not up on the latest techniques."

Duncan lifted an eyebrow.

Methos shrugged. 

"So what are you trying to say?" Joe asked. "You think you have a ghost?"

"I don't know. I've never come across a real one before, but we've had plenty of odd things happen over the years. It could be real." Duncan crinkled the papers in his hand. "Conventional wisdom is that houses are haunted by their previous occupants."

"So you thought maybe it was the Immortal that was killed here," Methos said. "Except that we don't linger like that. You know Quickenings are absorbed."

"This house has been here a long time. It could be someone else who lived here." Duncan flipped through the file. Names and dates jumped out at him as he skimmed the contents. 

Joe snorted. "No one else died in this house."

Duncan glanced up. 

"I read the file, of course. Wasn't going to hand it over to you without looking at it."

"That we know of," Methos countered. "With ghosts, it could be anybody who died nearby. Maybe even on the plot of land before the house was built. A nearby family cemetery. A hunting accident. A farm accident." Methos patted his own ear. "Buy a good pair of earplugs. You'll learn to sleep through the shouting."

"He's right," Joe said. "If the ghost has been here a long time, probably nothing you can do. That go-to-the-light business is strictly Hollywood."

Duncan gave both his friends a hard look. "I made up the guest room. And Methos can take the couch."

Methos laughed. "Looks like we're staying the night."

*** 

Having been woken up most nights at 4:30, Duncan became attuned to that time. He drifted awake and knew instinctively that it was just before 4:30. He could hear Joe snoring in the guest room down the hall. The couch was downstairs, so he couldn't know if Methos was awake or not. 

He practiced breathing deeply and evenly as he waited for the shouting. 

"Go. Away." 

The voice was a whisper. Chills raced down Duncan's skin. But this time he was sure that it was a woman's voice. 

He pushed his covers off and went downstairs. Methos was reading by the light of a lamp. He blinked at Duncan. 

"Again?"

Duncan nodded. "She whispered this time. But I'm sure its a female voice."

"I didn't hear anything. But if she's whispering at you, there's no reason I would." Methos put his book down. "Any thoughts on who it is?"

"Maybe the wife of the Immortal who was killed here." Duncan rubbed at his face. "Wilbur Burton. Unknown age. Married Roberta Hesten and adopted her daughter. She did have the house fixed and came back to live here. Takes a lot to overcome that kind of terrible reminder and continue to live some place."

"Maybe. Sometimes people stay put because they don't really have any other option." Methos shrugged. "Does it matter? What would you do? Hire a psychic? Hold a séance?"

Duncan shrugged. He'd considered those options, but it seemed excessive. Plus, he'd come across more than a few charlatans in his day. Finding a true sensitive would be difficult, time consuming, and expensive. Not to mention that even if he did that, there might not be any solution that would help the ghost, or cause her to cease bothering him. 

Methos gave a nod as if he'd read Duncan's mind. "See? What can you do? You can't do much of anything. You can move, if you like. Or get earplugs. Or accept the fact that you'll get up early every day. You do that anyway. Go to bed earlier. You can still get enough sleep. Problem solved."

"You're a treasure trove of advice," Duncan muttered.

"I like to be helpful. Share some of my years of wisdom." Methos plumped his pillow. "Now. I suggest we both go to sleep. This'll definitely wait until morning."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. 

"Later morning," Methos amended. 

***

Duncan exited the third hardware shop that day and stopped to gaze back in at their window. Ladders and paint. Maybe he'd paint his bedroom sometime soon. After he'd found someone who could actually duplicate the key to his backdoor. He had one more shot at a hardware store slightly out of town and closer to the city before he'd give up. Or perhaps a deadbolt might suffice, although it meant the door could not be opened from the outside. Duncan didn't like to limit his own options. 

It used to be that there were only so many key formats. Now they came in long, skinny, short, stumpy, fat, single furrow, double furrow, triple furrow, electronic, and more variations. The key to his back door was a bit shorter, flatter, and broader than anyone had keys in stock for. He could wait a month until they special ordered the correct key, or he could move on. 

He'd considered changing out the locks on every door and window to the whole house, but the house was old enough that the locations and structural set-up of most of the positions would also require new doors and windows, as well as work on the jambs. Or a lot of grunt work to core out specific sections. It was a project he'd only just begun to research how best to accomplish and would take a while. In the meantime, he wanted something to keep the door secure. 

The vibration started low in his spine and shot up until it filled his head. Duncan stood stock still and continued to look in the window, but instead of contemplating new bedroom paint colors, he used the window glass like a mirror. What Immortal had come into range? And had he or she realized it was Duncan they'd sensed?

A fast, blurred movement in the glass told him that someone had crossed the street and was directly coming over to him. 

Duncan spun around. He eyed the street. Other people were nearby, walking past or going in and out of stores. One older couple fed coins into a parking meter. 

The Immortal stopped short of the curb and took a stance in the street. He lifted his chin at the scattered passersby. "Highlander," he said.

"Do I know you?" Duncan asked. 

He didn't recognize the man. He stood six feet tall, looked as if he'd had his first death in his mid-thirties, and had dark brown hair with hazel yes. His face was broad and plain, with a small nose that rounded at the end. If he'd lived to be older, he'd have made a great Santa Claus. No chance of that now. 

"Ken Alanceo. No. But I know you."

"Is it something specific, or are you just playing the Game?" Duncan narrowed his eyes. His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach for his katana, but the street remained busy. 

"Just out for a stroll. Keeping tabs on my territory." Ken gave the barest of nods and walked backwards across the street, pointing one finger at Duncan repeatedly as if they were on friendly, joking terms. "See you soon, Macleod."

Duncan watched him go and then hurried down the block to where he'd left his car parked. Damned headhunters. This was the ninth this year. Nine. He'd left Seacouver on purpose to avoid these encounters. Either they'd tracked him down, or this was a chance, unlucky encounter. Either way, Duncan now had a new problem to worry about. 

*** 

The sound of a car engine turning off in his driveway made Duncan walk to the window and peer out. It had been three days and he'd expected Alanceo to show up at any time. But Duncan recognized Methos' car and if it were possible to recognize a Quickening, then the vibrant one alarming in his head had to belong to Methos. 

Duncan went downstairs to find Methos and Joe at his door. They held up brown paper bags that smelled of curry and fresh bread. 

"Looks like dinner is here," Duncan said as he ushered them in. At least once a week his friends came by with dinner or lunch and they all sat around and talked. Duncan was grateful for such dear friends, although he suspected some of it on Joe's part was to keep tabs on him. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher, even if semi-retired. 

"So what's new out here in the boonies?" Joe asked.

"Ken Alanceo," Duncan replied. 

Methos paused from his task of spooning out curry. "Another one?"

"Do you know the name?" Duncan asked. 

Methos shook his head. "Means nothing to me."

"Let me look." Joe pulled out his phone and tapped away at it for a minute. "Kenneth Jackson Alanceo. One hundred and ninety years old. First teacher not recorded. American. First spotted in Kentucky. Business man. Shrewd guy. Doesn't seem to like other Immortals on his turf. Not necessarily a headhunter, but he clears his territory and keeps it clear. So far he's been successful."

Methos snorted. "We're all successful. Until we're not."

"You know what I mean." Joe made a face at Methos and went back to reading from his phone. "Falls off the radar a bit, so he's sneaky. Of the Challenges we've got recorded, he seems pretty good with a sword, but he hasn't taken out any big names."

"Reduced to a faulty database and the phrase big names." Methos shook his head. 

Duncan agreed. "That's enough, Joe. But thank you."

"I didn't mean it like that, Adam." Joe stuffed the phone in his pocket. 

Methos handed over the plate of food. "I know. I didn't either. Mostly."

Joe nodded and turned back to Duncan. "Two choices. Wait until he shows up again and fight him. Or leave town. Move back to Seacouver. Hell, I know which I'd choose. You've got a ghost in the house anyway."

Methos plunked another filled plate down in front of Duncan. "Still waking you up at 4:30 in the morning?"

"No," Duncan said. "I get up at 4:29 and beat her to the punch." He sighed. "I do have very productive days."

"I'll bet," Methos said. "And remind me not to have any more sleepovers with you until you move some place else."

"Ditto," Joe said. "Now, where's that naan?" 

*** 

"Get up! He's here!" 

Duncan sat bolt upright in bed. It had been the ghost's voice, but different words for the first time. Usually she admonished him to 'go away'. And the time was wrong. 

Duncan caught the time in the electronic clock as he rolled out of bed. 1:30 in the morning. Far too early for his ghost to be up. 

He strained his hearing. She didn't speak again but he did catch the faint crunch of gravel in the driveway. The sound of footsteps. Close enough that Duncan should have felt an Immortal. 

It seemed like Alanceo had sent a mortal to do his dirty business. Duncan peered out past the edge of the window. The moon was nearly full and the world awash in silvery light. Two cars were parked down the road and a figure leaned against the hood of the first car. Probably Alanceo. Out of sensing range, most likely waiting to swoop in and take Duncan's head after the mortal snuck in with a gun. 

Duncan did not like that at all. 

Mortal helpers in the Game ticked him off. Joe's intel hadn't mentioned this at all. Which made sense. Alanceo was bumping off those in his way, not out looking for heads. He was being expedient. This explained how he'd managed to survive some of those encounters.

Duncan hurriedly stuffed a pillow under the covers to make it appear he was still sleeping and then hid in the guest room near the top of the stairs. In the dark, he would be able to see the assassin come up the stairs and make for the master bedroom. Once Duncan had his back, he would disarm the person and dispatch him if necessary. 

In the darkened guest bedroom Duncan heard his front door latch jimmied and the person enter the house. Each creak of footfall sounded especially loud even if it was the barest scuff of motion. For once he was glad the house was so old and noisy. It gave away the assassin's location with each soft creak. The assassin made his way up the stairs and was almost to the top. 

A pop of brightness seared Duncan's vision. 

"No! Not again! Go away! Go away! Go away!"

A figure in bright white appeared at the top of the stairs, gauzy and indistinct, with tendrils of mist all around the form. Duncan could make out a torso and head, but her hips and legs flared and faded into a skirt of bright white. She had thin arms and an expression of anger and panic. With a shriek, she shoved the assailant backwards with such force that the man didn't just fall down the stairs, he arced over them. 

The gun in his hand went off, uselessly plowing through mist, and the white figure shouted again. "Go away! I said go away!" 

With a heavy, sickening thud, the man landed at the bottom of the stairs and crumpled into a heap. 

In a flash, the blinding whiteness was gone, and Duncan blinked furiously to try to bring his night vision back. He eased from the room and cautiously approached the heap of human at the bottom of the stairs. There was no movement. 

Duncan searched for a pulse at the man's neck and didn't find one. 

He looked up the staircase to where the ghost had materialized. The assailant had gotten off a single shot, which meant if Alanceo had heard it, the Immortal would be coming to take care of business. He'd rabbit the moment he felt Duncan's presence and realized Duncan wasn't down. This was Alanceo's gambit and Duncan would finish it tonight. He didn't want to spend the time to track down this piece of garbage if the man escaped.

Duncan gripped his katana and sprinted for the door. Alanceo was a short distance away. He twisted around with a bewildered grimace that shifted into an expression of panic as he felt Duncan's Presence.

"You're supposed to be dead." He pulled out a gun. 

"We'll see about that." Duncan rushed forward. 

Alanceo's gun went off, but he'd been too close and too hurried. The projectile didn't even graze Duncan. Duncan didn't try for anything graceful. He impaled the man, reversed his stance, and retracted the blade. As Alanceo fell to his knees, with a single swipe Duncan took his head. 

The tendrils of mist that came from Alanceo's body looked very much like the ghostly mist that had made up the spirit in the house. Duncan looked up and as the first, exploratory threads of Quickening snaked around him, he could see the girl standing in the open doorway of the house. 

"Thank you--" Duncan started to say, but the Quickening consumed him and his breath was stolen. 

He could still see her face, and her expression of determination and relief followed him down into the agonies and ecstasies of the Quickening. 

*** 

"Moving again?" Methos kicked the box nearest him with the toe of his boot. 

Joe poked into the top of a box with his cane. "I thought after you took care of Alanceo that you'd stay. You wanted peace and quiet."

"Four thirty wake up call finally got to you?" Methos teased. 

Duncan sighed and stopped wrapping his kitchen plates in paper. At least when he'd decided to move out, he hadn't cleared away all the boxes from the previous move. Leaving only required packing energy, not getting more packing materials. 

"Yes, I'm moving again. Yes, I took care of Alanceo. Yes, I want peace and quiet." Duncan wrapped the next plate and put it in the box. He looked down. "No. No more four thirty wake up calls."

"Wait, what?" Joe asked. He stopped prodding the box. 

"After that night, I did a little more research. Remember the family of the Immortal who lived here? Wilbur Burton? I think it was the daughter."

"Wait, the adopted daughter? I thought you said it was the wife that was the ghost?" Methos moved closer and crossed his arms over his chest as if to ward off a chill. 

Duncan jutted his chin out. "Mabel Daylwhire lives one house over. She's eighty-seven and still lives independently. She knows everything there is to know. She knew about Immortals and she filled in all the missing pieces."

"Huh," Joe said. A light went on in his eyes and Duncan knew that Mabel would be getting a visit very soon. 

"Mabel was very good friends with Mavis Hesten Burton. Roberta Hesten Burton's daughter. The family of Wilbur Burton, the Immoral whose death and subsequent Quickening caused the fire that damaged their home." Duncan spoke the names and gave a moment for Methos and Joe to process the information before he continued. "Mabel was able to tell me all about how Mavis witnessed what happened to her father. As Mabel tells it, Wilbur was an exceptionally good man who loved his wife, adored his adopted daughter, and was well respected in the community." Duncan smiled. "She called him a softie and said he had a knack for little magic tricks. He'd hide nickels in kids' ears and then give them the nickels. Mavis was devastated and heartbroken by her father's death. When she was old enough she left to track down the Immortal who'd killed him."

"She killed him?" Methos said. 

Duncan nodded. 

"That wasn't in our chronicles," Joe muttered. 

"Mavis had a more exciting life than anyone knew. She'd tricked the Immortal into loving her. So when she betrayed and killed him, she also got his fortune. Not that it was that much, as he hadn't been that old. Young Immortals killing other young Immortals." Duncan shook his head. He was so tired of the Game, in all its facets. 

"But she stayed in Europe for a while, fell in love again, got married and had a family. The children went off to live their own lives, she outlived her husband, and when it came time to settle down, she wanted to live near her best friend, Mabel, whom she'd kept in contact with all those years. Pen pals for decades. Real, true best friends."

"But the house? None of this was in the file," Joe protested.

"Her mother had died and sold it, but it came back on the market. When Mavis bought it her last name had changed yet again due to the second marriage, which is why we didn't catch the link, and she lived here. Mabel lived there. And they had a great time visiting. Spent years together again, having fun. Mavis grew ill and spent her last few months in a nursing home, but Mabel says she's seen her here. Maybe that theory about haunting the place you've died is wrong. Maybe it only needs to be a place you have a strong attachment to." Duncan smiled. "Mabel thinks she's waiting for her to die before they go off to the afterlife. Together. Ready to have more fun. At least, that's how Mabel tells it."

"And Mavis was protecting her home from other people living here?" Joe shook his head. "Don't that beat all?"

"But when Alanceo's goon showed up, along with Alanceo--she got involved?" Methos asked. 

Duncan nodded. "I can only guess, but she might have thought I was hiding in fear in the guest bedroom, not waiting to strike, so she decided to take matters into her own hands. I suspect it must have been traumatic to see something similar to what happened to her father. Plus, by then, she knew me a little, and that I'm not the sort to go around killing if I don't have to." He looked up and then shrugged. "Anyway. I've still got ownership of the house, which I'm giving to Mabel as soon as I've moved out. And I've hired a company to deal with the place so she doesn't have to do any work on it. Mabel's in good condition, she could have another decade or two in her, but now she won't have to worry about Mavis' home being occupied by else."

"And you're off to find somewhere else to live," Methos said.

Duncan wrapped another plate. "That does seem to be my fate."

Methos came over and picked up a plate. "Have you considered Paris?"

Duncan watched as Methos wrapped the plate and carefully put it in the box. "I always consider Paris." 

"Good, then." Methos picked up another plate. "That's where I'm going. We can go together."

Joe poked at another box with his cane. "Real, true best friends," he muttered. "I'm supposed to be retired."


End file.
